


Illumination of a soul

by AlexiusWolf



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Dark, Death, Gen, Mentally unstable character, Pre-The Hobbit, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiusWolf/pseuds/AlexiusWolf
Summary: Expectations are overrated as is living itself. Curiosity is a mental disease and I am the creator of my own misery.ORSometimes insanity is the only answer to life itself and death isn't good or evil.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my friend, whose 'what if' ideas have a tendency to send me on impossible research sprees. So I took all her recent musings and cramped them into a story. I used her personality quirks as a template. As you can guess life around her is wild.
> 
> English isn't my first language, so sorry about any mistakes.

Death wasn't what one would expect. Well, it wasn't what I have expected. Although, I am no longer sure what have I been expecting. I know I was human once, now I was a just measly soul. Didn't have any shape or form. But I had consciousness. I was aware of other souls in the queue lining up before and behind me. The line to where? Who knows. Where are we moving to? I don't know.  
Time became meaningless. And slowly my curiosity was growing until I couldn't contain myself. And, stupidly, I moved to the side. I was fighting against the forces keeping me in the line, but I had decided and stubbornly pushed and pushed. Until there was a popping sound and I was hurled sideways.  
I didn't think that souls could feel the pain. I was wrong. I was torn to pieces. Tortured and tormented in an endless cycle. I lost my mind and senses.  
Until I got used to the endless torture. And slowly started gathering shattered pieces of my mind and soul. What else should have I done? It was my own fault. After all, I was the one, who decided to leave the safety of the soul queue. Although, after my recent experience, I wouldn't recommend it.  
As I was slowly and painfully glueing pieces of myself together, I became aware of the presence.  
“Who?” I taught.  
“You are still aware of me?”  
Auch. The voice shook me to my core and I frantically held barely glued pieces of myself together.  
“Could you be quieter?” I snapped irritably.  
There was a booming laugh and I felt like crying. This moron was tearing my hard work apart. The pain was just an expected result.  
“Stubborn thing, aren't you?”  
I ignored them and went back to my glueing. There was another wave of chuckling.  
“You can't stay here any longer, but as shattered as you are, you can't be reborn.”  
My mind zeroed on them.  
“What?!”  
“You shouldn't have survived the tearing”  
I had sent presence mental middle finger and stubbornly continued to piece myself together.  
“You can't stay here any longer”  
There was urgency in presence, but no feeling whatsoever followed the statement. I had just realized that even previous laugh was fleeting. Like they couldn't hold the feeling of amusement. I pondered their statement and shrugged.”  
“Then send me somewhere.”  
“The death has its hold on you. You can't be reborn.”  
“You said that already and you also stated, that I can't stay here, so just send me somewhere else.”  
There was something like a surprise, but not.  
“Very well.”  
And then I was pushed. I take everything about me achieving pain resistance and absolute nirvana back. I cried out into the abyss, colourfully cursing the presence.

* * *

I watch a boy leaning over the fountain. His fingers lightly dip into clear water. He might be around ten years old. Dark ebony hairs are falling over his shoulders into clear grey eyes. He is pale with high cheekbones and a straight nose. His clothes are fine and he is clean, probably son of some lord.  
“Herundil!”  
Woman's voice calls through the courtyard. Surprised boy sprigs up and turns to look at the woman. By the looks his family, most probably a mother. The boy grins and runs to her.  
I watch as the boy grows up spoiled and pampered into an arrogant and prideful adult. He is bright and very clever, but he misses wisdom that comes with life struggles. Slowly he becomes self-centred and conceited. Thinking himself above other men. I watch as he learns to harness magic and works with enchantments. Each incantation is more powerful and twisted than the one before.  
Images slow down and I watch as Herundil meets with a decrepit priest. There is something so wrong with the old man. But for the young lord, it is too late to step back. I watch as he signs a pact with a priest and undergoes a ritual. His eyes are torn out, replaced by beautiful blue star sapphires. They call them Eyes of the well. There's magic in them and terrible power. Herundil laughs as he can finally see what others can't.  
I watch as he twists the mind of his own father. Nightmare after nightmare rains upon a poor man. No ordinary soul could outlast such torture. The man withers away and in the last act of depression takes his own life. Herundil proclaims himself the storm king and to my horrified disgust, is wedded to his own sister. With utter madness and glee, he wages war. Slowly a damning realisation creeps up on me as I watch one of Numenorean lords conquer southern edge of Far Harad. Then there is an emissary, offering knowledge of magic and promise of immortality. Exited by the prospect of eternal life Herundil betrays his king and people.  
I watch as greedy lord accept a ring. Chill goes down my spine as he condemns himself and his people. Herundils soul fights back, but there are greed and craving for power in his heart. He spirals slowly, but surely into darkness becoming nothing but a puppet.  
I watch as fifth Lord of Men becomes Nazgul.

* * *

Finally, I come back to my senses. I am standing in the marble courtyard. It's bathed in darkness and unnatural green glow. I feel cold and something pushes against sharp shards of my shattered soul. I ignore it and try to get my bearings. The push is insistent and creates an irritating itch. Then there is a sharp pain in my exposed core and rage overtakes me. With an internal war cry my soul pushes and stabs back. It's quite easy to use my shattered pieces as a weapon. The black slimy thing cries in pain and I gleefully and sadistically attack.  
The poor mockery of the soul is powerful, but it can't get hold of me. Sharp pieces of my soul aren't allowing an inch of advance to the black slimy fake. Cackling madly I stab and tear at the fake and happily watch it as it dies. Calming down I slowly gather my soul together again. Warily I poke the black goo. The dead thing doesn't move, but sticks to me and stretches. It's like the disgusting corrupted version of flobber. Picture of green slime flashes through my mind and I freeze in a stupefied stupor. Deciding to ignore the insane part of my mind, I shrug. Why not? Then I proceed to use black goo as glue for my soul shards.  
My soul looks like a broken vase, pieces glued together, black mass filling the cracks. It looks bizarre and wrong. But I breathe the sigh of relief as finally I don't feel so exposed and in pain. I flex my soul a little and satisfied I concentrate on the outside again.  
I look around the courtyard. I don't think I am really seeing it. As it is half corporeal and I am sure that stone usually doesn't have a sickly green glow to it. I ponder my surroundings. There is something familiar about them, but maybe it is just the echo of the original occupant of this body. The thought stalls in my mind. Do I have the body?  
I let my soul feel around it. It has hands and legs, torso and head. But it feels like a shell as I don't think I am breathing. I try to move my hand up. If I was breathing I would be choking. I flex half corporeal skeleton of a hand. Slowly as I turn it, it gets covered by armour. I lift my other hand and there it is. The damning ring I watched Herundil accept and wear.  
If I was capable of it I would be hyperventilating. This isn't happening. They were right, denial is not just a river.  
I think back on Herundil and his madness. With all power and true sight unable to truly see. The strings that attached and made him their puppet. The corruption of his lands and people. Was his greed truly worth all this? What has he accomplished? Nothing. This dead shell of a body isn't even a living thing. So much for eternal life, I thought snidely. Well, what now?  
There is no way I am going to become some dumb tool for another moron. Follow someone? I was the demented soul that left soul queue. I curiously looked at the ring. I could feel the presence and corruption in it, but it doesn't have a hold on the mockery that is my existence. I stand there undecided and unsure. With a mental shrug, I grab the ring and tear it off my finger.  
My last coherent tough is if I am a masochist or just a simple idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

_Whatever I was expecting to happen after death, it wasn't to become an undead monster. _

* * *

When I wake up again, I am lying on my back in the wet and slimy puddle. It comes as a nice surprise. I haven't expected to wake up at all. I let my senses stretch out and let my soul poke around the body. It is still dead but in one piece. Same as my soul. Still resembling broken glued porcelain.  
I unnecessarily deeply breathe in and let it loose. Well, no time like the present. Carefully I sit up and open my eyes. I can see. Like properly see. Not just spectral, half-real shapes, but the real physical world. Looks like I am in a forest. Sickly and half dead. Same as me, I think lightly amused.  
I look around, but my senses don't register any animals or other creatures. The air is unnaturally still and there is only sound of running water surrounding me. I sit on the ground covered in a black tar-like substance. I am sure it is part of me and I am quite uncomfortable with it leaking around.  
So, concentrating, I start absorbing it back. With black veins sucking tar back into my body, I close my eyes and slowly move it around. It materializes as cloak covering my shoulders. I open my eyes again and uncurl my fingers from around the cursed ring. I can't just leave it lying around, but I am not putting the damn thing on my finger again. I smile and let my tar create the black string for it. Looping the string through ring I knot the ends together and put it around my neck. Slowly I stumble to my feet unused to such high. This guy is tall! I slowly flex mussels and am surprised. For a dead body, it is quite flexible and I don't feel any rot in it.  
I start walking to the sound of running water. I crouch next to the river and dip my fingers in the water. I can feel it, but it is a little off. Like consistency or temperature isn't translating properly in my brain. I shrug it off. I am dead and not in possession of my own body after all. I look for reflection. And from what I can see, I look like the nicely preserved sickly corpse of Herundil in his early twenties. Black veins are decorating my skin around sunken eyes and black lips. What holds my attention are my eyes. They look like eyes but I have no pupils and my irises resemble star sapphires. Also, they are gloving lightly blue colour. I look like nazgul but not.  
I look around and am met with a path of absolute destruction leading from marble castle to me. Well, this is awkward. If I am right, then I am currently in Middle-Earth. The castle before me must be Minas Morgul and I am one of nine nazgul. Even if I am not as spectral any more like the rest of them. I say goodbye to my common sense and embrace my madness. I don't care. It is better than the endless cycle of torture I submitted myself to in the abyss.  
Is this situation improbable? Most likely. Do I give a shit? Not at all.  
My face slowly sets into a deep scowl when I realize I am hungry. I am dead, how is that possible? Surely I can't digest anything. I sigh and start walking in a random direction. Trying to guess the state of my body and broken soul. I am not thirsty, so this hunger is probably not physical. From what I saw earlier this man was a sorcerer. I still have his knowledge, which is useless as it revolves around, in my opinion, useless things. Like dominion of mind, black curses, illness and corruption, dark enchantments and etc. You know that elevated feeling when you realize you are, in fact, a wizard. Not me. I feel such disappointment as I revise spotty knowledge I have received from the previous occupant.  
I scoff at my naivety and expectations. Useless, both of us. Me and this stupid nazgul. Well just me now. Shouldn't have I already learned a lesson about expectations? But my curiosity is peaked. I am technically undead right now, with access to dark magic. Alright, this is getting exciting. I will, most probably, be despised and shunned. The humans, elves, dwarves and wizards will try to kill me. The world I am in, don't want me. Well, that sucks, but I didn't claw my way out of the abyss to be defeated by such odds.

* * *

As I wander around planes of Mordor, I realize a few things. Time has no meaning for me any more. I don't need sleep or any physical substance to function. The tar-like matter is a bitch at my call and I have created proper clothes and armour with it. It can be as hard and as flexible as I wish it. It doesn't depend on my concentration and stays in shape I left it in. So now I have cool black clothes and numenorean light armour from Herundil glimpsed memories. Over it, I have a stylized cloak with a deep hood. I am looking like a proper nazgul now. I think. Haven't met my spectral friends yet.  
I can see and feel magic around me. I am also able to interact with it on some level, but I am unsure if it is because of the level of corruption around these plains or it will apply to every type of magic. The hunger is still present and slowly driving me insane, but I haven't found anything appetizing yet. Or at least anything that would quench the hunger. All living things and lands here smells disgusting. I could try to eat, but I will probably do it once the hunger is unmanageable.  
I can feel that creatures around here are avoiding me. The main cause for this is probably the dark magic swirling around me, but I am working on it. Little by little I am containing it into this undead shell. With it, I am also sucking portions of corruption around here, because my control evidently sucks. I wouldn't mind if it hasn't tasted like mouldy old bread. I stall a little at the thought. Am I managing my hunger because I am unintentionally feeding myself?  
Well, whatever. Once I can contain myself I am sure, I will meet something living. Otherwise, Mordor is an interesting place. It has all kinds of weather and type of planes. The most boring place is around mount Doom and The Dark Tower. And I am not telling it because it is giving me creeps and I am avoiding it. Nope.

* * *

I adore jungle part of Mordor surrounding south part of Sea of Núrnen. It is so cool and I finally find something appetizing. It smells so sweet around here and I wander in an endless circle as I stupidly can't find the cake I am looking for. I am sure I am suffering some sort of brain damage as I lean on a tree. And promptly smell the bark of it. The smell comes out from a tree, I am certain of it. In my elation I promptly devour it. Sucking energy and leaving the dead and dry stubby tree in its wake.  
Elation doesn't last long as I double down in pain. Living energy doesn't agree with my shell and my tar clothes are losing its shape. I feel like I am becoming a puddle on the ground, writhing in pain as I carefully push living energy from my system. This was definitely a bad idea. After a while, I gather and shape myself again.  
I warily step up to another tree, but the smell of it still makes me salivate. I connect to the tree energy and forest promptly hisses at me. I reel back surprised. What? Then anger in me rises and I bare my teeth at the tree. With brute force I connect again, pushing living energy to the side and tearing sickness and corruption from it, promptly devouring it. Oh, sweet ambrosia. I lose my mind in it. Forest struggle against my intrusion, but I just push it aside. I am not interested in living part of it.  
When I finally feel full and bursting I step back absolutely satisfied. The forest around me reminds me of curled crying shivering squirrel. Ah. Looks like I have some anger issues. But as I look around me, the jungle feels and looks different than before. More healthy? Somehow less burdened?  
I slowly step away, not wanting to create more resentment. I am sure the forest swore vengeance upon me, when the first Caragor I stumble upon, tries to devour me. This is the part, were already mentioned mind-bending spells, are very useful. As I have just realized, I don't have a proper weapon.  
I wander around pondering this new issue and try to experiment. I stumble upon green flames, which are pretty cool and something resembling black whip. First attempts on wielding it are absolute failure and source of embarrassment. Hopefully, nobody saw me. Would lose the remaining self-esteem as a nazgul.  
But I am finally able to contain all the magic into my dead shell and thus becoming respectable undead. Plus I have found appetizing energy, which manages to quench my hunger. I am curious about how other types of illnesses and corruption taste. Maybe I can write an analysis or some taste chart? And compare it to each other? With that, I would be able to create a preferred menu for undead dark sorcerers. Do other nazgul feed the same way? They are mostly spectral, do they even require it? Or maybe they can be part of that menu?


	3. Chapter 3

_Curiosity killed the cat. I am already dead, so YOLO, right? _

* * *

I just met my first Orc. He is bizarre. His name is Borgu something or other. He is shorter than me and a little crooked. His face is shrivelled and look like someone smashed it against a wall. But from my observation, most of the orcs and goblins have this type of looks. He is just missing protrude canines to complete his standardized visage. Like the rest of his kin, he has violent tendencies and vulgar manner. But he is quite sarcastic and loves machines and cogs. All fervent dedication and fanaticism once I showed I was interested in the topic.  
He is quite twitchy around me, but it is probably all the sniffing and salivating I have done, once I managed to corner and catch him, in the beginning. It's not like I wanted to eat him. He smells too much like stale potatoes to be tempting. But he wasn't reassured by my comparison. He is in charge of the nearest mine. All of it is dirty and organized chaos. It's fascinating. Most of the orcs don't know what to do with me. They quickly scurry out of my way.  
Borgu politely asked me not to come into mines any more. Well, as politely as the orc can. Which sounds absolutely vile in their version of black speech. Also hilarious. Mostly because I can finally understand all sharp grunts and growling and appreciate the sound of swears in dark speech. It's like most violent epic poetry.  
I promised not to cause utter chaos and show up at his workplace any more. But I needed some distinction, so I can find him easier when he is surrounded by other orcs. They all looks the same to me. Or at least tribes share the same taste of corruption. So all I can see is a group of stale potatoes. He wasn't amused by this comparison either. But agreed on facial paint. So now he is sporting white swirl around one of his eyes. It glows against his dark brown skin, so I can spot him immediately in a group. I have promised to tell him right away when I will leave, so he can take it down and not make himself a target.  
Tch. No appreciation whatsoever.  
But I finally got some feel to the community that creates Mordor. To call it community is a little far-fetched, but they are too disorganized to be a real corporation or a state. They do respond to Sauron and his puppets, but he has little impact on the daily functions of orc society. And I am not sure, why am I trying to put this into boxes with labels and create some unification for Orcs or Mordor in my mind. Maybe I should give Borgu some peace of mind and go looking for new delicacies around other parts of Mordor.

* * *

I found a way to tame and saddle caragors. Well, it's more like dominating them, but semantics. Also, the jungle isn't so pissed at me any more and lets me suck out the corruption and illness from time to time. It feels much more happy and content with its current state of being. But I won't be pointing it out anytime soon. The pissed-off forest is quite scary and insidious.  
I have slowly investigated different forts and orc clans in Mordor avoiding mount Doom and The Dark Tower. Still not afraid or cautious. They are just so boring and cliché. I have confirmed that I don't feel temperature properly any more. I didn't feel differences between icy planes of Seregost or desert sands around Shindram. And it's not just feeling of it, but temperatures don't affect my undead body at all. It's like I am some sort of preserved fossil or something.  
I also realized, that while I can see the world around me, I use the feel and looks of its magic to describe it in my mind and find distinctions. The details don't register properly in my brain and my descriptions are probably rude to the rest of the occupants of this world. Can't really do anything about it. It's most likely because original Herundil exchanged his eyes for gems and was technically blind for the rest of his life. His life was full of stupid choices. In my opinion, that's the main reason he ended up as nazgul. Something we have in common. Moronic life choices.

* * *

I have finally managed to acquire a blade. So now I am armed and probably won't embarrass myself in a fight. Why? Because this body knows how to do it and even spotty knowledge and memories I have from previous Herundil assure me of this fact. Plus sword itself swears it will help me if I will need it.  
I have found Ringil, that's how the blade has introduced itself, while I have been sneaking around Cirith Ungol. First I have tried to devour it, but its pathetic snivelling has stopped that attempt. It still smells like mint candy. I am slowly getting used to the smell surrounding me and it helps with my concentration. As I am not getting distracted by my hunger so much any more.  
Ringil boasts an amazing history for itself. It assures me, that its previous owner was some amazing elf that fought with the original dark lord. He died in an attempt but managed to cripple mentioned evil lord. Which is pretty badass, so I have conceded its point of being an awesome sword. My honest praise has left it glowing lightly for a few days.  
Ringil has been depressed at first because its original icy glittering appearance is marred with black smudges of corruption. Thankfully for me, it doesn't glitter any more. I have offered to devour corrupt parts, but that have launched another wave of waterworks. Evidently, those parts are necessary for it to function properly. So I have assured it about the unique smell of its corruption, which seems to lift its mood. So now I am not only armed with badass sword, but I have access to many stories about elves and their battles. Ringil likes to recall good old times. Plus commentary he spouts sometimes is absolute gold.  
I have gotten better about sneaking around and being undetected. So fort or better tower of Cirith Ungol is the first place, I have explored completely. This is how I have stumbled upon Ringil in a room what resemble treasury. I would call it storage, but there were too many valuable things to simply write it of as unused storage room. For a society that isn't even using the proper barter system, orcs are very particular about precious metals and stones.  
Tower itself is in unexpectedly good shape. While dirty and messy, orcs keep it in order. For such disorganized individuals, they are good craftsmen. While they are rough in their creations and not as able as humans or elves, they are competent enough. And there are even some odd ducks, that have enough creativity to come up with new contraptions.  
Only thing I truly dislike about Cirith Ungol is excess of spiders. True, they are everywhere in Mordor, but it looks like they have their main nest here. I vaguely remember there was some spider boss in Middle-Earth, but I don't think nazgul and spider boss are friends. Well, it's not like they can move to other parts of Middle-Earth freely with all the corruption they spread. But maybe they can migrate to the land of Angmar and northern wastes? There must be enough corruption from all the battles and dark lords activities. Maybe I should migrate there instead?

* * *

I have met the spider boss and my decision about migrating is set in stone. There is no freaking way I am staying anywhere near this she-demon. Apparently, her name is Shelob and she is the most badass guard around Cirith Ungol. I would say most ugly, but she will devour me if I say it aloud. I was also right about all the spiders belonging to her. So she has the biggest spy network encompassing whole Mordor. This part is much more wicked than the guard part of her activities. Which I have also stated out loud. She had puffed up at my admission and reverent admiration of such a network.  
This network is also the main reason she hasn't tried to devour me the moment I have stumbled upon her lair. Evidently, I am too bizarre and random to be a nazgul. I have no fear of light and don't care about moving during the day. Also, I have no problems with water and fearlessly wade through any river. I truly haven't realized there should have been problems with light or water. Also, my dread aura is diminished in her opinion. I don't think that's the case. I have just contained it into myself, to get others to stop avoiding me.  
I have introduced her to Ringil, but the two of them haven't really hit it off. Ringil is of the strong opinion, that Shelob is an evil dark creature that should be vanquished. While Shelob called Ringil useless dull elven stick and she wouldn't use it even as a piece of roast equipment. Then there were a lot of swear words hurled around and I have broadened my vocabulary extensively in three different languages.  
I have mentioned Borgu the mining orc to her as well. With all my observations and analysis of his clan and their interaction with me and other clans. Also my recent findings of Mordor community and different tastes of corruption. I haven't thought that a spider could laugh. I was wrong. The hilarity of my contemplations have hit her like a war hammer and she isn't able to look at me without laughing yet. I feel insulted. I have worked so hard to come up with proper analysis and distinctions.  
Yes, if this stupid land won't appreciate my hard work, I can move elsewhere. So now I am returning to Minas Morgul. Maybe I will meet some spectral friends.


	4. Chapter 4

_I am not weird, they just can't appreciate my point of view. Death has the way of simplifying things._

* * *

Minas Morgul is a proper ghost town. Its eerie green glow is rather pretty and the air around it is utterly still. The whispers of the dead can be surely heard by living as well. As undead myself, I can see all the unhappy souls, who can't move on into the afterlife. Most of them are resigned to their fate, but some of them are truly suffering. Souls, whose spectral chains are visible and holding them in place are in pain. I am unhappy with that.  
Surely, they haven't chained themselves into the ground and walls of Minas Morgul. Thinking about the torture I brought upon myself in the abyss, I move closer to a soul straining against chains holding him kneeling in a place. The man isn't wearing gondorian armour as the rest of the souls moving around him. There is a gaping hole in his chest like someone has torn out his heart. He is tugging at the spectral chains trying to stand up, while they burn his soul at each contact.  
He stops struggling and looks up as I stand before him.  
“Nazgul!” he violently hisses.  
I tug down the hood of my cloak and easily sit down on the ground before him. He lets out a gasp of complete surprise. All the souls around us freeze in their places.  
“Yes.” I agree.  
Even sitting down I am taller than his kneeling form. I was right in my guess that Herundil is taller than the norm of this world. I quietly contemplate the man before me.  
“What do you want monster?” He asks warily, not so sure of himself any more.  
“Who chained you? Have you died here?” Probably not as he isn't armoured as the rest of the souls surrounding us. His eyes widen in outrage and he practically howls at me.  
“You and your cursed ilk, a blight upon this earth! May you all burn in eternal fires!”  
That's probably a no to my second question.  
He hurls more insults my way as I contemplate the situation at hand. I don't care about errant souls filling this cursed fortress, but the chained ones are bothering me. Is it because they are caged in a place they shouldn't be? Or because they are submitted to endless pain?  
I grit my teeth and stand up feeling unsettled. The ring around my neck shudders violently, but I ignore it. I grab one of the chains holding him down and suck out its energy. It tastes acidic and violently clashes with the energy of my soul, but it dissipates into the air. Promptly I destroy other chains as well. Man is gaping up at me frozen in his surprise. I touch his forehead and watch as his connection to this world crumble and he slowly vanishes. Feeling satisfied I start releasing other chained souls I find.

* * *

I feel ill and tired after my self-appointed quest. Look at the great undead saviour, I think sarcastically. Trembling I lean into a wall as I sit on the ground. Looking at the cloudy dark sky I try to imagine how this city looked like before. Before it had become this eerie ghost city. Before nazgul had taken it. Before corruption had engraved itself into the footing of its walls. Judging by all the marble around me, it must have been white.  
Magic swirls around me and I am assaulted by an image of a beautiful city. Its walls are gleaming white and silver in the afternoon sun. A lot of windows are open to let spring wind into houses. The tall tower overlooking it all. There is a lot of happiness, but also vigilance. I gasp out as I push magic away. I slowly get up again to look for some snack. I will need to look elsewhere. Whole city smell and taste like ash and dry wind. Even hungry I won't submit myself to this.  
As I wander around the undead city there is a shift in the air. And in a show of green flames, there suddenly stands nazgul before me. My first tough is about the power of teleportation and why haven't I tried it with the flames before. The second is that I fail as a nazgul. Because I can feel the world withering around this one. There is so much despair in his presence and I am sure that he breaks the minds of others just by standing before them. He is cloaked in black hooded coat, that swishes around him in a non-existent wind. I also see his spectral form of a tall armoured warrior. But it is unsteady like poison fumes above marshes.  
“Undying.” His whisper resonates against walls.  
Yep, he means me. I am unsure what to say, so I just respond with his title as well.  
“Tainted.” And that's one spot on nickname if there ever was one.  
I stand still trying not to wriggle in place. I don't know why is he here or what he wants. Maybe he is unhappy about my earlier soul unchaining quest? Or was I to do something before I went AWOL? I don't even know what year it is. Haven't tough to look for it. It's probably second half of third age as this isn't Minas Ithil any more. And even this is just guessing on my part.  
I am nervous and I would be sweating if I could. Thank haven my undead shell of a body is unable to do that. Only positive tough is, that I haven't met Witch-king himself. In that case, I would most likely be curled on the ground crying like a little kid. So I steel my resolve to follow my moronic life choices and decide to greet my spectral friend. After all, I am one of nine, right?  
With all tact of a bull in a china shop I step up to him with an easy grin and clap him on the shoulder. The flowing reaction is entirely unexpected. The energy surrounding him screeches like offended cat and lashes out. My hand is burnt and my magic bowls into him as I quickly step back. He screeches again, this time in pain and immediately retreats, while I dry heave. I feel like he just has made me drink a glass of petrol.  
Absolutely bewildered I decide to retreat myself and promptly leave Minas Morgul. Maybe I don't really want to meet the rest of them. It's time to start on that migrating plan.

* * *

My hand has healed but I am left with acidic burn after that close encounter. I quietly sneak near Minas Thirit and decide to spend some time harassing Druadan Forrest. Its first reaction is more fearful than violent and there is much less corruption or sickness than in my favourite jungle. Its taste is rather bland, like unsalted pasta. But forest gets more friendly once it starts sprouting new buts and realizes I am not interested in its life force. Probably not corrupting my surrounding also gets me some brownie points.  
It's a busy place and I get to train my stealth abilities further. I am uninterested in humans travelling through it, but I wish I could pet some horses. They look so plushy after my stay in Mordor. But they are more sensitive than humans and get skittish when I am near them. Maybe I can corner one as I had done with Borgu. But it doesn't sound like a good idea. A horse is not an orc after all.  
I don't test my luck any further and head north. It is a direction where, I assume, lay Grey Mountains and Northern Wastes. I swiftly get lost in Dead Marshes. There is fog full of illusions flying around, mostly showing nicely preserved corpses in the water. I am disappointed that they are not zombies. I could make them myself, but what would I do with them then? I can try to make one? Would it even listen to me? With all my mental calculations, I know it would feel unquenchable hunger. Zombies are dead, there is no way for them to digest anything, but the feeling would be still there as an echo of missing soul. Doesn't sound like an interesting idea any more. But the illusions around are cool, maybe I can create something similar? There are also a lot of spectral apparitions, but they are avoiding me entirely. I am starting to feel like a victim of some violent contagious disease. What with all the avoidance and weariness. It is understandable of course, but as Shelob pointed out, with my dread aura diminished, I have expected a higher number of successful encounters.  
When I finally stumble out of marshes, I can see a range of hills. They seem old and I can feel a light sense of rot coming from their direction. My curiosity is peaked and I promptly decide to search for it.


	5. Chapter 5

_When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. What happens in case you are already part of the abyss?_

* * *

I swiftly bypass hills and am a little disappointed, that my goal appears to be further than I have thought. I look back. I really wish to explore them more. There is a feeling of old books in them and I think there is some old creature sleeping somewhere. I look to the north, where the sense of rot has got stronger. I can always come back to investigate. With last longing look, I start moving north again.  
I stay on the trail until I am sidetracked by a battlefield. Or at least it looks like a battlefield. There are souls of gondorian and easterling soldiers wandering around and still clashing with each other. There is also a feel of orcs and their corruption. Smells like some kind of mountain clan was part of this battle. Thinking about it I have seen only human and some odd elf soul wandering around. With elves it's understandable. They have some kind of afterlife halls for themselves or something. Maybe orcs don't linger? Is there some kind of instant exorcism? But I still can tell by corruption left after them. I confuse myself in my swirling toughs.  
Ringil gets appropriately exited. It is a sword after all. As I look around it regales me with a rumour it heard about the battle on Celebrant field. It is a second-hand insight as it hasn't been part of this battle. But for a sword, it has much more knowledge about the ongoings of this world than me. Which possibly says something embarrassing about me. But I don't feel that dumb as Ringil is one badass sword. Plus my westeron has gotten better thanks to it and I even can understand some of that disgusting flowery language of elves.  
After we have delayed long enough, I am moving again. The sense of rot is overpowering as we near the forest. The corruption spreading here is heavy and tastes like rich black coffee. It's absolutely addicting and I reel back. It resonates with the ring hanging from my neck and I know where the dark lord is currently residing. I whine in my mind because that means I could have done excursion through mount Doom. And as an unrepentant coward, I veer off of Dol Guldur and go deeper into the forest in the opposite direction. I don't stop until the taste of corruption become sweeter and more like dark chocolate. Where I breathe a sigh of relief and promptly start gorging myself up on surrounding corruption.

* * *

This forest isn't fearful or violent, it's bossy. After initial wariness to my presence, it started to shove its corruption, rot and illness my way. It also shows me its most festering places. Which to my great disgruntlement are part of the spider nests. But forest assures me they are not part of Shelob network after I have revealed my standing non-aggression pact with the spider boss. Their corruption also smells like fried chicken.  
Forest started calling what has followed its revelation, Massacre of Spiders. They have responded to my hunt for individuals with great violence. And so at one point, there was a battle between me and Ringil cackling together against pissed off spiders. At the end of it, I have sat on a mountain of spider corpses, slowly sucking their corruption and mixing their remains into my tar mass. So my headquarters, the first cavern system I have conquered, are slowly being filled with leftover hardened parts of their exoskeleton. I found I can bleach the material and Ringil is helping in carving different shapes from it. Then I hang it from the ceiling and walls of the caves.  
I also carve some runes into walls and fill it with my corrupted magic. It creates that pretty green glow. I don't really need light for me to see, but it is in tune with ornaments from spider material. And when wind whistles in, it creates a whaling song, which calms down soul energy from all the dead things around here. Ringil also has decided to add its flair and when I give him my excess magic he is creating ice mosaics. When we gather enough ice, it wants to try its hand in sculpting.  
While I have been occupied with my spider campaign and have obediently sucked the worst corruption and rot under the demands of this bossy forest, the air around here has cleared a little. Or at least it doesn't have that malicious feel to it any more. So forest as a benevolent overlord has bestowed a bunny upon me. I did complain about not having anything fluffy in my possession. Even my multitasking tar mass can't imitate fur properly. It has been still half alive with a festering wound on its side. I will deny any notion of fretting on my side at that moment.  
With great care, I have managed to suck out illness and corruption from its wound, while avoiding its life energy. But it still has been left bleeding and dying, so I have carefully mixed some of my soul energy into its life to force rapid healing. It has healed, with some side effects. Brown fluffy bunny is now white as snow with glowing blue eyes and it follows me around like a duckling. After some pondering, I have named him Khamul.

* * *

My forest overlord is kind enough to help me avoid its elven occupants. It gets kicks from their absolute bewilderment from ongoing cleansing and me calling it benevolent overlord. I know the clash is unavoidable, but we can postpone it a little. Plus eating and playing with Khamul is more important. According to the forest, somehow from the moment I got spit out from the abyss and possessed Herundil, I have become unsociable. Which is completely untrue. I have met and made friends with Borgu, Ringil and Shelob. The ringing silence from the forest that follows my statement is palpable. I would be blushing if I was able to.  
Pouting I go track down Khamul for some cuddling. I am also thinking about overtaking another cave system as my current one is starting to get overstuffed. If I add anything more to my decorations, the song of death will get dissonant and wind around them is starting to get too chilly for elves residing in the forest. They will find them if the difference between caves and their surrounding becomes too apparent.  
My search for Khamul is successful when I hear the sound of a released bowstring and flying arrow. Without thinking I flame before my bunny and shield it. The arrow digs into the back of my shoulder and I stumble a little with the force of it. It isn't painful, but my tar starts leaking and drops that land on the ground are sizzling in the following silence. Everything is still, while I make sure Khamul is unharmed. I don't think I will be able to heal it again. There is a sound of incredulous swear from surrounding trees and I look their way.  
I must present a weird picture. Tall individual cloaked in a long black coat with a deep hood. The only thing they can see is my glowing blue eyes as I have started to cover the bottom of my face with sash after leaving Mordor. There is white bunny contently cradled in my arms and corrupted grey-black sword of elven shape tied to my back. Black tar leaking from the wound created by the still stuck arrow and slowly corrupting ground under me. Forest will be unhappy with this, I think fleetingly. Then there is the sound of drawing of bowstrings again.  
“Could you not make any more holes into me? I will be scolded for this enough already!” I growl in elves direction.  
They stall uncertain. “Show yourself!” is demanded from between the trees. This can't end peacefully. I slowly raise my hand to lower my hood and take down the sash. There is chocking sound following the reveal of my appearance. Without missing a beat, three more arrows are heading my way. That's when forest intervenes. Arrows are stuck in branches that shield me. There is more spluttering, but I am already fleeing, trying to avoid confrontation. I patch up my shoulder and am more cautious about Khamuls safety.  
After our interaction elves become inconsolable and hunt for my head is on. I try to eat and hunt spiders while avoiding them, but it becomes a real chore. Forest is quite apologetic about all of this, but I can't be really angry about it. It was unavoidable after all. So with a farewell, I decide to explore Dale as forest tells me it is a nice human city. And if I am lucky I can meet some dwarves.


	6. Chapter 6

_Heroes are not born, they are made. I hope I will one day meet such a distinguished individual._

* * *

With all my exploring of Middle-Earth, I haven't realized that my soul was slowly healing. The cracks are only deep black veins on the surface of my soul and there are no edges any more. I look more like a vase with unique decoration then shattered mess it was before. I revel in this knowledge.  
I haven't had many problems to enter the city of Dale. I have received some suspicious glances, but they have turned to more surprising ones when they have realized I was clutching a bunny in my hands.  
The city is very lively and colourful. There are so many interesting shops and stalls. But I am more interested in magic and energy swirling around. It creates living pulsing net curling in concentric circles from the centre square to city edges. I am sure I wouldn't be this aware before my stay with bossy forest. Maybe when elves calm down I will go back.  
I sit on a bench at the side of the square in the shadow of homes behind me. There's a thug at my sleeve. I look down and see a small kid next to my knee. A girl can't be older than eight. Her light brown hair is in pigtails on each side of her head and she grins up at me. Her front tooth is missing and her brown almond eyes and small button nose crinkle.  
“Can I pet your bunny?” she asks squeakily.  
I hum and glance at the bunny in my lap.  
“What do you say Khamul?”  
Bunny promptly hops up to the girl and nuzzles her cheek. Girl squeaks in surprise, but in no time they are running around square. Slowly other kids join on their impromptu game of tag. Unexpectedly Khamul is the one doing the chase, instead of being the chased one. It's truly a funny sight.  
Then the dry wind picks up and smell of burnt wood blows through the square. I am standing before I even realize it. I gaze in the direction I can feel the heat coming from. It's closing up quite quickly. And then there is a mighty howl. No way. For all days to choose to visit Dale, I am here today. The day when Smaug burns it to the ground.

* * *

The sight of the dragon is amazing. Holy sweet haven, it's truly a dragon! Then it's violent energy clashes with my magic and I know I am in deep shit. He flies above my head and there is fireball heading my way. I throw magic shield before me, but it just slows fireball a little as it burns through my magic. I throw myself to the ground to avoid inevitable baking.  
Then there is a horrified gasp behind me. When I look fireball is already upon the girl clutching Kamul in her hands. Bunny jumps up to clash with the fire in the air above the girl. There are white lights and fireball fizzles out all around the girl. Kamul heavily drops to the ground smoking a little. It's dead. Girl falls to her knees sobbing next to it.  
There are panic and fires everywhere, but I am only thinking that this bastard destroyed my first gift. My only gift. The rage in me rises and this lizard will pay. Even if it is the last thing I will ever do. I see the dragon making another loop to spread another wave of destruction. I am running in his direction before he can fly above the city again.  
“Ringil, do you think you can breach its scales? Or at least freeze it a little?”  
“I can try.” is swords determined reply.  
I grin. I materialize my black whip as dragon sweeps down with another breath of fire. It tangles around one of his wings and I drag it to the side with all my power. Dragon screeches and goes down. I push my corruption into the whip and release it, so I don't get dragged along. There's another screech as corrupted whip bites into dragons wing and he barrels through one of the city walls. There is another howl and I can ascertain dragon is pissed off as well.  
“Hey, you dumb lizard!” I shout. Dragon whips his head my way and growls. He breathes another volley of fire my way and I respond with my own. It's dragon fire, so I come out a little charred, but it doesn't stop my advance. With Ringil in hand, I attack with a cry of rage. What follows is mostly dodging and deflection on my part. I can't avoid all damage, but it just releases waves of my corrupted tar. It's slowly but inevitably eating into dragons scales. Ringil can't breach dragon scales on its own, but all the icy blows are hurting dragon with each successful hit more.  
In a swift attack it chomps down on my left hand and his teeth graze my side. I have tried to avoid it, but he was quicker. For a moment there is his eye glittering in triumph. I bare my teeth and ram Ringil into the eye. Dragon is reeling back and tearing my hand from my shoulder with it. He tries to claw me, but I block with Ringil. There is crackling sound and Ringil shatters.  
My mind blanks out and all my corruption surrounding us rises. I release all the weight of my black magic and dragon is choking unable to breathe out any more fire. My tar latches and traps him to the ground. There is animalistic painful whining, but I don't care. Dragon will die here.  
I watch as he slowly and painfully chokes on my corruption. Once a dragon breathes his last breath. I carefully gather shattered parts of Ringil with one hand and heavily sit down next to the dragon leg. Slowly I gather myself again, but I am not sure how to fix the gaping hole left after my hand. I lock down the corruption again, but I am too tired to correct my clothing. I am missing my cloak and sash entirely. Clothes and armour are mostly intact if a little burnt. I am dirty, covered in burns and mud.  
I look at the pieces of Ringil in my lap blankly. There is the sound of shuffling feet to the side. I look up and see the girl hugging Kamuls unmoving body. She comes closer and lays the bunny next to the pieces of the sword. I lift my hand and hover it over the remains of my fluffy pet. I suck back my soul energy clinging to it. Bunny burst into white particles and dissipates into the air. The girl gasps in surprise. She hesitates, but then carefully sits next to me without touching. Smart child.

* * *

I tip my head back as the wind ruffles my hair. There is a whisper in wind.  
“It's time.”  
I know that voice. I look back and dragon corpse is slowly getting surrounded. Mostly humans, but there are dwarf warriors on one side and humans are making a way for a tall blond elf on the other. I give shattered pieces of Ringil to the girl.  
“Its name is Ringil. It is the most epic sword in Middle-Earth.”  
Girls eyes are wide and full of awe as she accepts my friend. I stand up staggering interested in dwarf in front of others. There is corruption circling his mind. It smells like fresh lemonade. They warily look at me as I step closer to them.  
“You are sick. Your mind is being corrupted.” I tell the interesting dwarf. His eyes widen and his complexion loses remaining colour. “Let me take it.” His breath shudders, but he doesn't move. I lift my hand and touch his temple. I drag corruption as I step back. It looks like golden dust swirling around my fingers. There are shouts and urgent whispers as dwarf falls to his knees feeling dizzy. I eye him, but he will be alright. With a nod, I devour his sickness. It's like I am eating lemon bonbons.  
There is another whisper in the wind.  
“Stubborn thing, aren't you?”  
I grin and turn to the elf. His face is blank, but his body is alert. I stand before him and thug the leash from around my neck. Lifting the hand with the ring dangling from the black cord. Elf eyes widen. The only sign of his surprise. He is good. Then I start pushing all gathered corruption into the ring. There is the sound of drawing swords, but elf before me doesn't move. He continues to look contemplatively at me.  
I slowly start looking more spectral as I continue pushing corruption into the ring. There is a high pitched shriek and ring cracks. I am empty. I offer it to the elf, who can't cover his surprise any more. He accepts offered ring.  
“If you don't banish Sauron from Dul Guldur, my work in your forest will be in vain.”  
The shock spreads over his face. Like cracks in the icy statue. I am satisfied. I step back and start to unravel my spectral form. I am glowing and slowly dissipating.  
I can feel the presence again. “Are you still aware of me?”  
I laugh happily as my soul is released.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's it, folks. Hope you liked it and even if you didn't, my friend was satisfied with the story. She is the best!


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